


Prompt: So Spake the Dead.

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [35]
Category: In the Flesh (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - In The Flesh, Codependency, Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro doesn’t always shake. Its… uneven, in how it happens; there some days and not others - rarely when he goes to the doctors to pick up his prescription Neurotriptyline so he can’t exactly <i>prove</i> it - but it worries him. Sometimes he finds himself forgetting odd things - which is bad because he almost <i>never</i> forgets anything important - and after a particularly bad bout of nightmares he found black and bloody tears on his hands before he called for Wanda.</p><p>He hadn’t told Wanda about those.</p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5467649">Prompt: Ave in perpetuum frater</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt: So Spake the Dead.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Prompt: Ave in perpetuum frater.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5467649) by [EssayOfThoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts). 



> Written for a prompt on my tumblr, readable [Here](http://essayofthoughts.tumblr.com/post/137638382650/eyo-love-your-stuff-so-much-could-you-maybe). Sequel to [Prompt: Ave in perpetuum frater](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5467649). In The Flesh timeline used was [This One](https://docs.google.com/document/d/14rKRt9VIXs9U5uau840DoXB2UKw_szsz362NzNr8Mlw/edit).

**i.**  
It is after Pietro has woken from nightmares that Wanda first notices Pietro’s shakes. She doesn’t say anything then, she knows that Risen can sometimes shake as though cold or scared even though their body doesn’t react to stimuli in the same way as the Living. She holds Pietro’s hands gently in hers, strokes his hair back, and lets him curl against her until he calms. He doesn’t need to sleep, really, but Wanda knows it soothes him to, and she breathes a deep sigh of relief when she feels him relax against her and do so all the same.

She stays where she is, leaning against the headboard of her brother’s bed, and pulls the blankets up to cover Pietro. He can’t get cold, not as she can, and he is colder than a Living besides, but it is calming to do. His hands are still shaking in hers, just slightly, not as they were when he had first woken, and Wanda resolves to add it to her notes for the doctors. 

The room is dark, and warm, and Wanda smooths a hand through Pietro’s hair, and sleeps.

 

* * *

 

 **ii.**  
Sometimes people question why she and Pietro are so close, when he is Risen and she is Living. When he is a Rotter and she is human. “Come on,” says one of the old HVF blokes, when she and Pietro go to the pub in Manningtree. “’E’s just a Rotter. He doesn’t need to sit in here with the rest of us. Not like e’s Living.”

Pietro cannot hold in his smirk when Wanda steps close to the man and spits in his pint. “He’s my brother,” she says. “He’s more alive than _you_.”

 

* * *

 

 **iii.**  
Sometimes Wanda thinks she probably shouldn’t have said that to him. People have always known she and Pietro to be close and saying that the old rumours come back.

“Rotter-lover” is hissed at her more times than she cares to count - certainly more times than she tells Pietro - and with the Victus party gaining power Pietro gets more glares too.

 

* * *

 

 **iv.**  
Pietro doesn’t always shake. Its… uneven, in how it happens; there some days and not others - rarely when he goes to the doctors to pick up his prescription Neurotriptyline so he can’t exactly _prove_  it - but it worries him. Sometimes he finds himself forgetting odd things - which is bad because he almost _never_ forgets anything important - and after a particularly bad bout of nightmares he found black and bloody tears on his hands before he called for Wanda.

He hadn’t told Wanda about those.

He hasn’t taken brains, not since that first meal of sheep brains Wanda had found him consuming, and he has completely refused the Blue Oblivion some of the school children at Manningtree High were pushing. He took his dose of Neurotriptyline every day, precisely on time with Wanda’s aid, and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he is shaking, why he is forgetting, why sometimes he finds the black sludge that fills his veins pouring from his eyes.

He does know that he is going to have to tell Wanda eventually.

 

* * *

 

 **v.**  
It is a little way into the new year that he tells Wanda. He has heard stories from other Risen, that more and more are getting the tremors, that more are missing memories even minor ones and he knows that they, at least, are not all so conscientious for the safety of the Living.

It is not as though Victus’ effects on the country are giving them any kindness.

Wanda, he knows, is growing worried. By the politics, she says, and the stupid _Give Back_  scheme that she joins Pietro for every single day in protest of as she says, “its complete, total and utter _idiocy_.” Their foster parents haven’t said anything, yet, about them going to Uni-proper. They know that Wanda won’t go without Pietro, and that no University worth it’s salt is taking Risen yet, though Cambridge has been making noise about it.

“Wanda,” Pietro says one evening, while she works over the essay she is doing for her Open University course. “Can we talk?”

The sounds of typing quiet, and Wanda spins around. Her feet rest on the wheel-spokes of the chair, toes gripping the black plastic slightly and she watches Pietro silently. 

He holds his hand up. His shaking hand. 

“It won’t stop,” he says. “I’m not sure how long it’s been going on for. I’ve been forgetting some things, I don’t know why, and sometimes my blood comes out like tears.”

“Three months,” Wanda says. “You first started shaking three months ago.”

It doesn’t surprise Pietro that Wanda knows. Somehow, he is aware, she almost always knows. She knows people well, and of all people she knows him best of all, they are twins, halves of each other, always meant to be close. It doesn’t surprise him that Wanda knows.

“I think,” he says, “We should go to Norfolk again.”

 

* * *

 

 **vi.**  
Wanda does not _flinch_  exactly. If he had to, Pietro would say she _blanches_ , but whatever it is, she clearly does not want to. Pietro knows she remembers the facility better that he, knows that she remembers all they did to him and other Risen in the name of treating them where he does not.

“Wanda,” he says. “This is what happens to Risen before we go _rabid_. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Wanda says. “You never will. Even when you were only first being treated you didn’t try to hurt me.” There is an earnestness to her tone, and honesty, and Pietro knows Wanda believes of him what he believes of her. That they could never hurt each other.

“And before then?” he asks. “When you found me in the field. Did I try to hurt you then?”

There is quiet. Pietro does not remember that part of his time untreated. He remembers the cells with other Risen, remembers finding the sheep and clubbing its head in, remembers pieces of the truck ride to Norfolk when one man’s teasing had almost led to him lunging before Wanda had told the man off. He has never asked this, never _needed_  to (never wanted to), and Wanda’s quiet worries him.

“You lunged,” she admits.

 

* * *

 

 **vii.**  
There is no air in his lungs. He cannot breathe, he cannot breathe, and for long moments he forgets he does not need to breathe quite as the Living do.

Then Wanda’s hand is on his shoulder and he feels the air rushing in.

“You weren’t yourself,” she assures him. “Your brain was gone then, _it is not now._ ” There is a certainty to her tone, an absolute assurance. “ _You_ would never hurt me,” she murmurs, and presses a kiss to his hair. “Not ever.”

Pietro is shaking, his hands are quaking, he can feel teartracks and knows the black tar in his veins is leaking from his eyes, and he tries to pull away from Wanda so as not to stain her clothes.

“It’s alright,” she says, and strokes through his hair. Pietro wraps an arm around her, presses his cheek to her stomach, and waits for the world to come back into focus.

 

* * *

 

 **viii.**  
When he can breathe again, when only his hands are shaking, he takes Wanda’s in his to try to still the tremors.

“We should go to Norfolk,” he says, and sees Wanda about to refuse, refuse outright because she knows he will not refuse her if she speaks _just_ quick enough. “I _want_ to,” he says, faster than her, and Wanda’s gaze falls to their hands. He can see her thumb graze over the skin of the back of his hand even if he cannot quite feel it. 

He feels tingles, though, and wonders if his shakes are nerves regrowing oddly.

“Are you certain?” Wanda asks, and he can see in her eyes that she will follow if he is. “They might not let you go.”

Pietro disentangles one hand and reached up to cup Wanda’s cheek. He can see tears starting to bead in her eyes, and runs his thumb lightly underneath, teasing them away.

“Then we wait,” he says, “And I go to the doctors and tell them of this. But if we cannot stop this I should go to Norfolk again. I don’t want to go rabid.”

There are full tears now, and Wanda’s breath is hitching. “If you go rabid,” she promises, “I will take you to Norfolk myself.”

Pietro sighs, sighs softly. “No,” he says. “No, if I go rabid you must kill me.” There is a look in Wanda’s eyes, fierce denial, vehement refusal and he continues quickly. “I don’t take Blue Oblivion. I don’t even take _brains_. If I go rabid it is because the Neurotriptyline has stopped working, that there is no cure.” He looks up at Wanda, eyes as fierce as a Fury’s even as she is crying. “If I go rabid,” he repeats, “Promise me you’ll kill me.”

Wanda’s fingers wrap tight around his, so tight he can feel it properly. “If you go rabid you are no longer _you_ ,” she says. “And I cannot make that promise.” One of the two hands wrapping his disentangles, and he can feel her hand against his cheek. “After two days of treatment Neurotriptyline-renewed brain cells take three hours to degrade,” Wanda says. “After six months of treatment Neurotriptyline-renewed brain cells take 24 hours to degrade.” He can feel her nails in his hair, the unintentional ferocity of her certainty. “ _Imagine_  how long it would take your cells to degrade to Rabid after two and a half _years_  of treatment.” Her fingers gentle in his curls, combing through instead of digging in. “I studied, at Norfolk,” she says. “You’re not going rabid. You _can’t_  be.”

 

* * *

 

 **ix.**  
They go to the doctors. Wanda’s hand is firm in his, a reassurance and a promise as he tells the doctor of his shakes, of how he wonders if he ought to go back to Norfolk.

“No, no,” she says. “Perfectly common in Risen under treatment. We’ve been developing something new for it, Neurotriptyline-plus. More intense dosage, fewer side-effects.” She rises, pulls a box from a cupboard. “Same dosage as before, same method.” She smiles at him, reassuring, but not as powerful a reassurance as Wanda’s hand still tight in his. “Do tell us if the shakes continue, but they really shouldn’t.”

 

* * *

 

 **x.**  
The shakes continue.

Pietro hides it from Wanda, somewhat, until his hand spasms like it hasn’t since he was twelve and almost fell out of a tree after climbing around in the treetops like a spidermonkey all day.

“Have you talked to other Risen?” she asks. “They have their own mythology don’t they, with the Undead Prophet?”

“It’s rubbish,” Pietro says. “Bullshit, favourably.”

Wanda shrugs, and squeezes his hands. Pietro is sure he can feel it more than before. “Ask them anyway. It can’t _hurt_.”

 

* * *

 

 **xi.**  
Asking the others is hard. They are wary when they know Pietro is still close to Wanda, and distinctly distant from them.

“Why should we trust you?” one asks.

“Living-Lover,” another spits.

Pietro holds out a shaking hand. “I don’t want to hurt my sister. I don’t want to make things worse for us.”

The other Risen stare at his shaking hand, and one of the elderly Risen in the group lifts his own shaking hand.

“We’re to Live again,” he says. “Through the sacrifice of the Second Risen. So sayeth the Undead Prophet.”

 

* * *

 

 **xii.**  
Wanda hugs him when he tells her. Wraps him in her arms and does not let go for long minutes. “Live _again_ ,” she says. “You could _live again_.”

“I want,” Pietro says, and it is with the burning certainty he knows Wanda sometimes feels. “To go to Norfolk.”

Wanda pulls away, hands still clasped on his arms, and Pietro can _feel_  it, truly _feel it_  as he has not since he Rose. Her gaze is searching, digging through the burning certainty of his eyes. “If they try to hurt you,” she says. “I will break you out.”

 

* * *

 

 **xiii.**  
Norfolk welcomes them.

“Prodigal children,” Pietro laughs, when they are shown to their rooms by Halperin himself. “That’s what we are.”

Wanda is smiling, smiling so brightly, and Pietro thinks she is shining. Her feet are warm where they rest on his thighs, and he can feel their slight pressure, feel the warmth, feel the precise points of her nails as her fingertips tap over his hand in happiness. “Did you hear what he said? ‘ _Spate of Living Risen_.’ You’re going to _Live_. You won’t risk being Rabid ever again.” Pietro flips his hand, interlocks his fingers with Wanda’s, and cannot hold back his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!


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